Chapter 3


Astrid's fingers tingled with the impact. Admittedly, she looked a bit ridiculous – a girl in a blue dress holding a frying pan above her unconscious attacker's head. The frying pan, however, was the most lethal object in the tower (she had seen potential for her hair working as a noose, but that was more of a hypothetical at this point). The frying pan had served its temporary violent purpose well. She squinted to see through the brown feathery hair adorning the thug's head and smiled at the red, swelling lump forming there.

This thug was skinnier than expected. Astrid surveyed the intruder cautiously, but she couldn't help but be intrigued by him. He was the first boy she had seen. Astrid could at least tell he was a boy. She'd seen paintings of boys and girls and men in women in her picture books. This one had the definite figure of a man, but the youth of a boy. She realized, with a slight widening of the eyes, that he couldn't be any younger or older than she herself was.

Astrid felt a satisfied and proud grin spreading across her cheeks. "I did it!" she crowed softly. "I can defend myself!" She cast a reckless look in the long mirror that Mother had fixed before she'd left for the well. "I'm more than capable of survival," she announced to her reflection.

Something stirred in her memory, and Astrid immediately tensed, swinging the pan back towards the boy. She couldn't let her guard down now and risk a surprise attack. Mother had regaled many oft repeated stories of surprise attacks and feigned weakness. Was he truly unconscious? After poking at his leg with her pan, she decided he must be. Any conscious thug would already be up and chasing after her and her hair by now. Then she remembered the many terrifying stories Mother had told her when she was smaller. The men with pointy teeth. Ignoring the twist of panic in her stomach, she carefully laid the edge of her frying pan on his lips. With a slow bend forward, she slid the lips apart.

His teeth weren't pointy. She allowed her tight shoulders to relax ever so slightly. His teeth were much like hers, actually. His weren't as well-maintained– but that was to be expected of a ruthless, filthy, uneducated murderer such as himself.

Curiosity drew her frying pan to a lock of dark, wispy hair that had fallen across his face. She used the pan to push it back.

He had strange spots dotting his skin – dark brown, irregularly sized and spaced. Astrid couldn't be sure, but it looked as if he was so dirty that patches of mud had soaked into his skin. She shuddered at the mere thought of it. How disgusting! Her eyes were drawn back to his face. He had a slightly upturned nose, thick eyebrows, and long, fluffy eyelashes. His lips were only slightly paler than her own were. He seemed . . . peaceful. Harmless, even. His arms and legs seemed too skinny and thin to do much, and he didn't have the look of an evil warrior.

Astrid's fingers clenched the frying pan tighter. That was his disguise, then. He would appear innocent, then kidnap, use, and murder some innocent person. Well, she wasn't as foolish as Mother seemed to think. Astrid straightened, glaring down at him, before a smile slid onto her face. Could Mother refuse her with an unconscious thug lying at her feet? The timing of this ruffian was too perfect.

But she wanted it to be entertaining. She wanted her mother to think everything was as usual, but then her mother would see the thug. Oh, Astrid wanted to have a good view of the look on Mother's face when she took a look at him. The girl glanced around the room. Where was an easy place to hide him? The wardrobe immediately drew her eyes. It was perfect – centered, effortlessly accessible, and roomy.

She slowly laid the frying pan on the floor, then crept toward the ruffian. He seemed to be soundly asleep, but Astrid wasn't about to take any chances. She wrapped her fingers around his arms, stepping over him so that she wouldn't stumble. When she tugged him, she found he was roughly her weight – difficult to move, but not impossible. She'd been lifting furniture while Mother was out, to strengthen herself. Smothering another proud smile, she dragged the thug toward the wardrobe. When close enough, she arched a leg behind her and tapped the closet doors open with her toes. Even ballet, she realized as she balanced perfectly on one leg, had proved useful. What a concept.

Taking a deep breath, Astrid wrapped her arms around the ruffian's chest and thrust him into the closet. After stuffing his various limbs in after him, she slammed the doors shut. She sprinted to the table, dragged a chair over to the wardrobe, and tucked it beneath the door handles. Astrid laughed in delight. She leaned on the doors and grinned up at the ceiling. What had seemed impossible just a few hours ago now seemed easily within reach.

Sunlight streamed into her abode once again. Something glimmered on the floor. Astrid jumped. It was something in the imposter's satchel . . .

She took tentative steps toward the satchel. The glimmer didn't seem harmful, but Astrid didn't trust the thug or anything of him. Her eyes fastened on the glimmer, she clenched the frying pan in her fingers. The girl swung the pan forward and poked at the glimmer. Nothing happened. She then nudged at the satchel, slowly pushing the glimmering thing out.

It seemed to be an ornate circle, almost completely flat except for a cluster of jewels poking up at one side. Astrid reached forward to touch it. It was a cool metal that soothed her fingers. Her hand curled around it. She pulled it closer to her eyes, studying it. The circle gleamed in the light. It was lovely, but what was it? She slid it onto her arm, but something about it seemed unnatural and misplaced. She tried to hang it on the nose and felt the same. Then she laid it on top of her head. Twisting it so the jeweled part was at the front, Astrid rushed to the mirror. Something about it seemed . . . right. She couldn't explain it.

"Astrid!" The girl jumped. Mother had returned from scavenging for dinner. Astrid raced around, grabbing the satchel and the circle. Sprinting to the stairs, she lifted a stair board and shoved the new items into the hollow space. Astrid thanked her past self for not sharing every detail and discovery and hiding place of the tower with her mother. She hung the frying pan back on its hook in the kitchenette and sprinted to the window.

"Coming, Mother!" On habit alone, she tossed, hooked, dropped, and pulled her hair. The teen yanked harder than usual, determined to pull her mother up faster than ever before. She could hear surprised chuckling from her mother. No doubt this burst of energy was unusual to her. But Astrid couldn't wait. She had to try.

"Dear, I have a wonderful surprise for you," her mother called up after recovering from Astrid's burst of speed.

Astrid smirked a little. "So do I!" she announced.

Mother never could take a challenge. "Oh, I bet mine is bigger!"

Astrid glanced back at the closet. "I seriously doubt it," she murmured.


He had a cramp in his left leg, he couldn't see a thing, and his head was killing him. Hiccup groaned quietly, rocking his head back and forth in hopes of obliterating the ache. No such luck. With one hand, he rubbed at the now tender, burning back of his head. With the other hand, he reached out into the dark. It took a few seconds for him to figure out he was in a closet – the rectangular space, the clothes hanging above his head, the wooden walls. Why was he in a closet? Whose closet was he in? Hiccup groaned as the memories returned. He was in a tower. Something had hit him with a bang. He had toppled to the ground. Now he was in a closet. Obviously that something had been wielded by someone. He felt the doors behind him, but no matter how hard he fidgeted and pressed, they refused to yield.

"Darling!" Hiccup jumped. His head complained. Scowling at the pain, he realized that if he pressed his ear to the doors, he could hear the outside world better.

"Hello, Mother," replied the voice of a girl about his age, he guessed. Mother? Yes, the first voice had seemed older and feminine.

"Want to see my surprise?" The older woman asked cheerily. There must have been a response – a nod, probably – because the mother cried delightedly, "Yak milk! I know it's your favorite. We can have it for dinner tonight!"

"Thank you," the girl replied. Hiccup got the sense that the yak milk was more of the mother's favorite than the daughter's but that she wasn't about to complain. The mother chattered on and her voice faded. Hiccup guessed she was moving to another room or alcove in the tower. If not worried over the women hearing him, he would have cursed his own stupidity out loud. Of course people still lived here. What had he been thinking to assume it was abandoned? This put him in a lot more trouble than he wanted. Stupid, stupid Hiccup.

Trying to think of any advantage he might have, his stomach twisted. Where was Toothless? Had he been discovered by these women, or had the dragon managed to dart away before discovery? News spreading further of a dragon in the kingdom would only make their lives more dangerous.

He focused again on the conversation outside the wardrobe. The mother must have asked the daughter something, because she was talking again.

"Well, Mother, there's something I wanted to tell you," the girl said, excitement building in her voice. Hiccup strained to hear.

The older woman sighed loudly, apparently not having heard her daughter. "Oh, dear. You know I hate leaving you after a fight . . . especially when I've done absolutely nothing wrong."

Hiccup realized with a start that the girl was standing right next to him when she announced, "What I'm about to show you is going to change your mind."

"A-about what, dear? The stars?"

"The golden stars, actually-" Hiccup crunched his lips into a perplexed grimace.

"I thought we talked about this, darling-"

"You said I can't defend myself-"

"And I was right-"

"Actually-"

"Enough!" Hiccup twitched with surprise as the mother barked at her daughter. For a moment, all he could hear was his own soft breaths. He suppressed a sigh. The condescending tone and constant interruptions were all too familiar. He did not know either woman, but he already could tell exactly what kind of parent the mother was.

The older woman continued. "Enough. We can't keep talking about this. You cannot leave this tower, ever, and you know that."

Yikes. Hiccup grimaced.

"…And now I'm the bad guy. Again."

"Mother-"

"What?"

"I think... you're right." Hiccup's ear hurt from how hard he was pressing it against the crack between the doors.

The mother heaved a loud sigh and started to speak, but the girl intervened. "What… what I'd really like for my birthday are paints."

"Paints?"

"Like the ones I made- we made – from the seashells."

"I… darling, that's a three-day trip. It's an awful lot of effort on my part-"

"I know, but…" The girl hummed. "I guess I'm just bored." She sighed. "And I'm thinking about the outside… too much, like you said. I guess the paint would be better than the… the stars."

Hiccup held his breath to avoid breaking the silence. Then the mother groaned out, "Are you sure you'll be alright while I'm gone?"

The reply was quiet. "I'll just be happy to see you when you get back."

"Oh, darling." A chair creaked, and dainty footsteps echoed toward Hiccup. "I love you, dearest."

"I love you more."

"I love you most."

The women settled into conversation about various preparations, the older loud and dramatic, the younger quiet and dull-toned, while Hiccup eased his head away from the doors and rubbed at his aching ear. He had so many questions. He couldn't shake the twinge in his stomach – the fear. He didn't know where his dragon was. Losing track of Toothless anywhere was dangerous, even on the outskirts of the kingdom. He quelled the shudder trembling at his shoulders. He needed to stay calm. He needed some kind of plan.